


Will You Come When I Need You? Will You Come When I Call?

by Ghostwriter98



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Choking, Creepy praise, Episode: s02e01 Kaiseki, Everything Hurts, Hurt/Comfort but I think Hannibal is going about this comfort thing all wrong, M/M, Non con elements because though nothing sexual happens, Someone Help Will Graham, Will Graham Has Encephalitis, sticking a tube down a semi conscious person's throat is pretty invasive Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-19 10:05:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17599229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostwriter98/pseuds/Ghostwriter98
Summary: It presses onto his tongue and reaches back into his throat, invading him. Will stiffens in panic, eyes impossibly wide. It's moving and reaching down. It’s darkness. Has to be. This cold never-ending weight. It's creeping down his oesophagus and it will spread into his stomach and intestines and keep on creeping until there is nothing left. Nothing but darkness and Will will choke on it.Or,A possible take on Will’s thoughts if he was semiconscious when Hannibal was sticking that tube and Abigail's ear down his throat.





	Will You Come When I Need You? Will You Come When I Call?

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by a line Alana says in the show, “All I see is dark swarming behind my eyelids. I dream darkness comes into me. It comes and it's insidious.”

The roof (at least Will thinks it’s his roof) is moving above him, shifting and bunching together like silk. He tries to turn his head to the side but it’s so heavy. A few attempts later and his head falls to the left. His line of sight is angled towards the floor and Will thinks he can see hooves. He’s too tired to lift his gaze though to confirm it’s the stag. He lets his eyes fall closed instead, his toes curling into his sheets that are heavy and suffocating _._ A trickle of sweat runs down his forehead.

It’s hot. So hot. Why is it so hot?

The blankets release him and Will is suspended. Floating. Free at last. The air feels so cool and good against his heated skin. He sees the ground passing by in a blur of brown wood. He’s upside down. God, everything looks so different upside down.

A wave of dizziness and suddenly Will is upright again. He’s leaning against something hard. It creaks when he moves. A chair? He twitches when he feels something soft touch his lips and parts them until he tastes crinkly plastic. Then the light pressure is gone and replaced with something much more solid and much more hard. It presses onto his tongue and reaches back into his throat, invading him. Will stiffens in panic, eyes impossibly wide. It's moving and reaching down. It's darkness. Has to be. This cold never-ending weight. It’s creeping down his oesophagus and it will spread down into his stomach and intestines and keep on creeping until there is nothing left. Nothing but darkness and Will will choke on it.

Will feels tears prick at his eyes and he tries to suck in air, but the darkness is in the way.

It’s killing him.

“Shh.” Will sees the devil. He’s all red eyes and sharp antlers. Bones and ash. “Shh, relax and breathe through your nose.”

He sounds so familiar and soothing and his claws feel like soft gloved hands when they rub down Will’s back and suddenly Will remembers how to inhale.

“That’s it, good boy. Keep breathing for me, Will.”

Will wonders how the devil knows his name. Maybe he’s come to thank him for sending all those sinners his way?

He reaches out a finger and it catches on fabric. Will blinks and he sees Hannibal towering over him with something in his hand. Will can’t see what it is though because his head is tilted so far back. His gaze is trained on the ceiling that’s moving again (Damn it, why can’t it stay still?) and then Hannibal moves even closer until Will can see nothing but his sharp jawline and those irises that glitter like rubies. He is everywhere. He is everything.

Will thinks about sitting across from Hannibal in their next therapy session and blurting out, "I dreamt you were pouring darkness into me and I don’t know why." He imagines Hannibal arching his brow and asking in his psychiatrist’s voice, “Do you feel overwhelmed, Will? Like you’re drowning?” Will lets out a breathy chuckle because the answer is always, always. He doesn’t know what it feels like not to be drowning anymore. To not feel the familiar feeling of panic crawling along his skin as rivers of sweat seep from his pores and fill his bed like a tidal wave. Another laugh, louder and more hysterical, bubbles free and this time Will’s throat contracts around whatever the fuck is down his throat. It hurts so Will stops but that doesn’t change the fact that his life is one long never-ending nightmare.

Hannibal shifts out of his sight and then there’s scuffling. A distressed and muffled whine rattles its way out of Will’s mouth because his anchor is gone and that’s not okay.

Hannibal returns with something in his hand. Somehow it hurts more now, the darkness pressing against his throat with more weight, but because its Hannibal and because Will always goes to him when he’s afraid, he doesn’t pull away like he wants too. Instead, his fingers catch at the fabric of Hannibal’s suit and he pulls the man even closer. He just wants to feel the warmth of another person and something – something familiar and grounding in this messed up place he calls his mind.

“I am almost finished now.” There’s a hand on his forehead pushing back his sweat soaked hair and it feels so nice that Will naturally leans into the petting. “You are handling this very well.”

And then the darkness recedes. Will feels it slowly retreat and slide back up his throat until it leaves with a wet pop. His head falls forward and lands on something hard and toned. It feels like wool and it smells like comfort and safety and expensive cologne. Something spills out of Will’s mouth. A question? A plea? Will doesn’t know what he’s trying to say and the words come out jumbled.

Hannibal seems to understand him though.

“Of course, Will. Of course I will stay.”

But Will feels Hannibal drifting away moments later, the hand in his hair sliding free and the warmth of his stomach all but disappearing. He feels something prod at his back. Antlers? Slowly, Will is pushed and coaxed forward until his knees come into contact with his bed. He falls onto his back with a groan. His eyes drift up to the ceiling and it's moving again.

Fuck.

“Ha-Han-ni-bal,” Will chokes out because he doesn’t want to be alone. Not when he knows now that his mind can conjure up a dream version of Hannibal to keep him company when he’s in the thick of his nightmares.

Silence answers him.

“Hannibal!” Will calls again, louder this time. His throat is raw and aching and broken. God, he’s so broken.

“HANNIBAL!”

But he doesn’t come back. No matter how hard Will wishes it. No matter how hard he pushes his mind.

Why doesn’t he come back?

**Author's Note:**

> *Points to the title*  
> The answer is no  
> *Runs away and hides*


End file.
